Never Neverland
by thebestwaytoeatpeanutbutter
Summary: Pan doesn't appreciate anyone interfering with his plans- so when a pirate ship arrives in Neverland, he makes sure the leader of Henry's rescue meets her imminent end, or so he thinks. Honestly? Pan should've realized that the combined efforts of a savior, a knight, a queen, a pirate, and a princess made for a force to be reckoned with.
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

_Any preconceived notions of Neverland came to their imminent demise the moment the ship, by some miracle in and of itself, commenced through the portal, and Emma found herself ungracefully sprawled underneath of Captain Hook. And as any smart, level-headed, single mother impervious to a pretty face, she elbowed him in the gut and decidedly ignored her fluttering pulse and his lack of commentary on the fact that they had inadvertently joined hips._

_Trying to maintain a level of dignity in her thin shirt, her hair wild and at odds with itself, she stood on unsteady feet. In an act that showed no concept of time, the sun had swallowed itself whole and the night that loomed was an unwelcoming black; the wind moaned and the sea came thundering with its own nefarious ends to meet. Land was nowhere in sight and the storm was climbing higher—soon a deluge of infinitesimal drops began raining down onto the ship's deck with all the noise of a hailstorm but the aftermath of a line-battle. Son of a bitch, she thought as upon closer examination, the drops turned out to be five-pointed stars, sharp enough to draw blood. Faster and faster the onslaught fell; her place behind the helm putting her in direct peril of being impaled. As she desperately sought cover, she damned Neverland for being incongruous to all the stories, damned Pan for being a bastard who kidnapped her son, and damned Hook for owning a ship that offered no refuge. _

Hook.

_And then, suddenly, everything stopped. The sea was still, nothing fell from the sky. Silence permeated the ship and all of Neverland. Emma spun on her heel and looked around. No one stood on the deck—not Regina, not David, not Mary Margaret, not Mr. Gold. She turned to where she'd pushed Hook off of her and instead of seeing the disarmingly handsome pirate captain with his smile that had cut down swaths of women in his wake and too blue eyes, there was nothing. Heart plummeting to her feet, she spun and spun to find him. She began to call out, but to her dismay, she couldn't speak. Her voice was swallowed by the unending blackness. _

_She was alone._

_She had no hope of winning this battle._

_All at once, rowels of panic gave away to impending fear, and Emma was struck with the throes of battle, the pains of childbirth, the agony of near death. Her entire body shook with sudden paroxysms of hysterical grief and she fell to her knees, crying out to the void. Then every pain she'd ever felt—pain of abandonment, of betrayal, of unrequited love— attacked her with such sharp emotion she felt herself falling, drowning, spiraling down and down and then—_

Emma.

_Her name, spoken so sweetly and melodiously and with all the reverence of a prayer, said again and again, until she opened her eyes. At first the blackness prevailed, but then there was a flash of light, then another, then another in a shining parade. There was no mistaking the brogue as anyone's but his. She half-expected to turn around and see him, exquisitely beautiful despite having gone through hell, on the ground, elbow propped up to support his head, eyes looking up at her with admiration, respect, and most inexplicably off all, that panic-inducing L word._

_But he wasn't behind her. And as she drew up off the deck and took mincing steps to the railing, she saw him. He was light in the night-shrouded land, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't happier than she had ever been to see him, that she wasn't overly eager to hear an allusion to sex fall from his lips and a wink to be sent her way. _

_Whether he had floated towards her in a golden bubble or walked on water she couldn't tell, but he was there, he was safe, he was there, in front of her. She could reach out and touch him, slap him, kiss him for coming back, for always coming back. But her arms wouldn't move. And yet she felt oddly peaceful despite her paralysis, feeling as though nothing bad could befall her while he was there, and that she could let her protective instincts wan a little because it wasn't always bad to let someone else take care of her._

Emma, darling. This is a dream.

_Her eyes widened slightly—she realized then he looked younger. He was dressed in naval officer regalia, his hair was longer, and she watched, nonplussed, as he reached out and took her face in his hands. As a notorious masochist, she flinched upon contact, but his hands were so warm against her skin she found herself pressing her cheek further into his palm after her brief hesitation, her eyes fluttering closed._

_She saw the comfort and she took it, despite pride, despite her principles. Her foundation was shaky and even the strongest people crack. Self-denial wouldn't help her regain her strength in that moment, and in that moment what she wanted was him._

You're dreaming, and when you awaken you'll be safe.

_This was either the meanest thing her subconscious had thought up, or a threat from Pan to deter her from interfering with his plans, but regardless Hook was here to save her. Hook was always there. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up because for the first time in forever she wasn't conspiring against herself. She looked at him and his golden glow and knew in that moment that she'd follow him to the ends of the world if he asked. _

Your walls are a crutch, love. Let me in.

_His thumbs brushed her cheeks tenderly, followed subsequently by a light kiss to her lips—a kiss with more meaning than she had ever experienced. Her eyes then opened on their own accord, a small smile on her lips, only to discover he was gone. Her brow furrowed as she looked for him, only to realize he had stolen that kiss from her and left._

Emma.

"_Hook, where'd you go?" She shouted to the sun as it capriciously emerged and cast its golden glances onto a perfect day, and damn if the weather in Neverland wasn't a seriously fickle mistress._

"_Hook—" Her eyes filled with tears, and damn if she didn't feel weak in that moment._

Emma, honey, wake up.

"_Killian, I need you_."

Emma!

Emma jerked upright, her vision obliterated by her pounding head, and she blinked fast, convinced when she didn't immediately see clearly of her newfound blindness and quickly started coming to terms with a life in the dark. There were pinpricks of sweat on the nape of her neck and forehead and her mind had never felt more slow, nor had her body ever felt more sluggish. It took her longer than she cared to admit to regulate her breathing and to realize herself she wasn't on the edge of a precipice or about to be run through with a sword.

When her sight finally acclimated, she discovered Mary Margaret, David, Regina, and Hook crowded around her, each with varying looks of concern, staring at her expectantly.

When her gaze met Hook's, her face remained impassive; completely belying the jumpy thing her heart started doing as the ending of her dream came to mind with great force. She quickly averted her eyes and tried her best not to blush.

As though she were unfettered by the trauma of her purely fictitious dream, she attempted to stand, but suddenly Mary Margaret was by her side, lines of strain around her mouth, even though she was trying very hard to keep her smile in place, gently holding her down.

"Just—relax, sweetheart. You're alright." Mary Margaret began sweeping awry strands of hair away from Emma's sweaty forehead. She supposed she knew something was wrong by the troubling looks on everyone's faces, but a lifelong attempt at self-preservation made her extremely obtuse at times and she shifted away from her mother and tried to stand again, only to be faced with the urge to faint. Her hands splayed out around her, desperately trying to find purchase when—

"Emma!" This time it was David who ran to her by her elbows, and it was then Emma realized her own strength, or lack thereof. She managed to complaisantly sit without putting herself or anyone around her in danger and regarded the group with defiant eyes, finally fed up of being looked at with such commiserating pity when she was fairly certain the extent of her distress had been a nightmare evoked by her deep-seated worry over Henry.

_Henry._

It was broad daylight. It was daylight, which meant she would be artfully dodging attacks by Pan and his Lost Boy minions or avoiding getting eaten by giant carnivorous plants. She should _not_ be sitting around camp comparing the merits of a sword versus bow in battle, talking about her health or something equally as trivial when her son was somewhere _alone_ on this island with nothing but incarnated evil as his company.

"What the_ hell_ is going on?" She snapped, but what was supposed to be an unequivocal testament to her waned patience ended up sounding like an exaggerated cry of glee, and her eyes widened as she closed her mouth and opted for silence. The four stared at her for a long moment with concerned eyes, except for Regina, whose concern lasted for all of a minute before Emma got the strong impression she was trying very hard not to laugh.

"What do you remember?" Mary Margaret asked softly, kneeling at Emma's side with arms outstretched for a beat before she seemingly thought better of her maternal instincts and sat back on her heels. Focusing on anything made her brain cry out in protest, and Emma shrugged, embarrassed by her inauspicious memory loss.

"We found Pan's hideout," David said carefully, as if attempting to trigger a memory, "and we saw Henry."

At the mention of her son's name, she notably brightened and opened her mouth to question his wellbeing when David cut her off. "He's fine, for the moment. It doesn't look like Pan's goal is to hurt him."

"We saw Pan leave the compound with a few of the boys, leaving Henry alone. And before anyone could try to dissuade you, you—well, Emma—"

"You ran to Henry against everyone's better judgment and caught the attention of one of Pan's minions who summoned Pan who then put a magical hex on you and made off with Henry while you fell to the ground like a sack of rocks." Regina finished with all the care of a dentist pulling out teeth without anesthesia, and Emma wondered if anyone else heard the snide undertones that hinted at her being the reason Pan still held Henry captive.

"Snufflepock," clarified Hook, who had stayed uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange, a glimmer in his eye. "Pan used snufflepock on you. It's similar to the powder comprised of poppies that makes you sleep, but comes with a far deadlier intent. It makes you face your worst fears while you're at your most vulnerable. And," he paused, and it didn't take much to see how utterly _defeated_ he looked, "most people don't ever wake up."

_Son of a bitch._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello, welcome to my story. Please don't be shy with reviews- I would love to know what you think!

* * *

As often as Emma objected to being treated like an insubordinate, she was never appeased, only ordered to sit and rest and try her best not to swallow her own tongue. Sitting around being a helpless invalid with each passing day tended to defeat her purpose, but she found rising in revolt against the monarchy that were her parents was particularly difficult to accomplish when she was still dependent on someone else to help her stand.

Emma knew she was failing in every capacity, and while dwelling in fear was a hobby she had long since given up, she couldn't help but be overcome with great solicitude over the safety of her son. With sadism being Pan's favorite sport, it wasn't completely illogical to feel premonitions about the impending battle he could conceivably wage. And yet she knew that attacking Pan without a plan was about as productive as sitting around sharpening sticks and singing songs around the campfire.

She regarded the camp, trying her best to remain cool in the face of the unknown. Though she wanted nothing more than to scream out in frustration, losing her last bit of sanity wasn't a very good first step in rescuing Henry.

It was about noon, she supposed, since Neverland didn't have any way to keep the time. She noticed Regina first, who sat on a log on the far side of the camp, her ostensible composure concealing the same sadness that seemed ineradicable no matter how cheerfully someone tried to start a conversation. Mary Margaret and David were busy with their own tasks of collecting firewood and gathering rope, and Hook was nowhere to be seen. Emma frowned a little. _Damn unreliable pirate_, she seethed, even if she somehow unconsciously knew there was a reason for his absence, only she couldn't remember the specifics.

Her stomach growled, courtesy of forgotten meals. The animals in Neverland weren't easily persuaded into falling prey to hungry hunters, and so they had superseded the pursuit after a narrow escape involving David, an ogre, and the untimely fall of a tree. The first actual food they had happened upon over a week ago was fruit. With the appearance of an orange, the crunch of an apple, and the sweetness of watermelon, they had been Emma's newest vice.

Hook had cheekily informed her—upon confirmation that they weren't absolutely disgusting, or laced with poison that would kill them in their sleep—that they were pretty unforgiving to a woman's figure if voraciously consumed, and then as if he hadn't just made an allusion to her weight, the bastard, he had winked at her and sauntered off. And then she had had to pretend that his wink hadn't done a funny thing to her internal body temperature. _Bastard_.

Still, they were the crowning glory of Neverland, so she had loaded up on provisions despite the calories, figuring if she wasn't getting any older she wouldn't get any wider, either. And then she had made her point that when she wasn't feeling particularly magnanimous, anyone who tried to interfere with her supply put themselves and their extremities in direct peril of being impaled by her sword.

The supply of food had been dwindling, however, and with no means of getting to the last fruit besides crawling, Emma thought better of greedily stealing to satisfy her own appetite. _Damn Snuffle-whatever the hell it's called._ She had only been asleep for an hour or two, and yet she had been subjected to all this damage. Her cheeks burned in rage as she thought of the curse that had cheated her of her own strength and facilities and demoted her to nothing but deadweight. Emma had had her fair share of feeling like brainless cabbage; she was tired of sitting around with the trash like a collection of malcontents and undesirables. Checking to see if anyone was watching, she saw Regina pacing, muttering what seemed like evil incantations to herself, and David and Mary Margaret with heads bowed, under the pretense of twining rope but more likely in deep conversation about _her_. Maybe it was a savior thing or a daughter thing or the fact that she had eyes, but the thinly-veiled worry hovered over them like a sigh.

A sick feeling twisted her gut, but she willed herself to be strong, placed her hands on the tree she was leaning against for balance, took a breath, and thought of Henry. He was alone, surrounded by boys parading around in bodies far younger than their souls, surrounded by Peter Pan—a _demon _that planned to _hurt_ Henry. With that she rose, ignoring how decidedly jelly-like her legs were and how her head swam until her vision blurred. She gritted her teeth. Playing the role of damsel in distress had gotten really old. She had taken care of herself for as long as she could remember. And if she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could easily pretend that the ailments of her magical hex were due to a major hangover and a night in bed with whoever she picked up at the bar.

She moved to take a step and was astounded to discover she could. Her eyes opened but before she could take another step her legs seemed to recognize the inevitability of the situation before her determination did. The camp began to spin at an increasing rate and as she wobbled on her feet she started to resign herself to falling—

—and then she was back in her dream. Only this time the sun dipped behind darkening clouds and the first splat of rain fell for precious seconds before the sky opened up and water came pouring in sheets, and she was drowning, drowning and gasping for breath—

"Swan!"

She snapped to attention. Her limbs felt frozen, unmoving, and she was stuck suspended in the air, as if by some magical source.

Looking down to see if this had been Regina's doing, she saw Hook watching her with some sort of unnamed emotion in his blue eyes and she felt a rush of relief, letting out a breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding. His expression changed within moments of catching her gaze to something deeper, more caring and Emma colored slightly. It wasn't because she figured he realized she'd been happy to see him. It was because despite his irreverent quips and brash exterior, Hook _did_ have the capacity to care about someone other than himself, even if his behavior normally made it easy to forget he had any depth of feeling.

She realized then she felt better when thinking of him as simply crass and shallow.

"Are you her?" David's voice successfully ended the staring match Emma had unintentionally had with Hook, and it was then her eyes fell to a woman by Hook's side, a woman whose ineffable beauty was exemplified by wide eyes, an ample bosom, and upswept blonde hair. Emma felt her nondescript features paling in comparison but swallowed back her envy, unwilling for such a desultory source of contention to digress from Henry. Even if she did notice, from her vantage point, that the stranger and the pirate were standing much too close for people who had just met.

"Allow me," said Hook in a deferential tone she had never heard before. With a sidelong glance to Emma, who was still floating in the air in the middle of wondering if she was in danger of being attacked by any flying demons, or worse, about to be confused by any passing bird as a nice spot to unleash their feces, he continued, "This is Lady Bell."

"Lady Bell" shot Hook a playfully chastising glare and shook her head, her mouth open to speak when Emma cut her off.

"As in _Tinkerbell_?"

Her voice was croaky and overall unattractive from lack of use over the past few days—she had stopped speaking altogether when she had complained that she had to poop and it ended up sounding like she was overly cheerful about her upcoming bowel movement—but still managed to sound incredulous. Not matter how often a new character from a story came into her life or how used to the fact her parents were Snow White and Prince Charming she got, it still came at a bit of a surprise to her when she found out the town shrink was Jiminy Cricket or that the person who had kidnapped Henry turned out to be Peter Pan. She started to wonder if she should start checking to see if Ariel was about to fall out of the sky, mermaid tail flapping.

"My reputation precedes me, then," the fairy said in a bright, melodious voice that Emma instantly hated. And then the beauty dressed in leaves that hardly covered her bust curtseyed, and a shimmer of what was probably fairy dust emanated out around her and gave her the appearance of a halo. Her gut twisted when she took notice of the awed look the fairy had gotten out of Hook, but then she noticed the unimpressed, slightly hostile look on Regina's face and felt marginally better.

Slowly and meticulously Emma was lowered to the ground, until she was face-to-face with the fairy from her favorite fairytale as child, and Emma perked up a bit when she saw that she was almost a head taller than her. But her prevalence was short-lived as her legs gave out from under her and her dignity was lost as she ended up on her ass. _Son of a bitch._

"She can't stand, you idiot, she's been _cursed_," snapped Regina, which elicited an annoyingly delicate gasp from the pixie. At first Emma figured Tinkerbell was merely commiserating with her considering how being cursed pretty much sucked, but then the soap opera continued when she all but shrieked "_Regina_?!"

Emma found herself wondering once again how her ordinary life in Boston had gone the way of Neverland and fairytales-come-to-life and tried to remember a time when her complicated family tree had been unbeknownst to her, while above her Regina and Tink seemed to have met before.

"What—how are you here?" Tink asked without a trace of her shimmering brightness, her face contorted into something ugly as she speared Regina with a look of contempt. Regina looked equal parts amused, angry, and surprisingly guilty as she returned the glare. Mary Margaret hovered on the outskirts of the altercation, appraising the situation with the eyes of an arbitrator, but David held her back like a dutiful husband who didn't want his wife to be the one who brought a crossbow to a magic fight.

"I live here," Regina replied with heavy sarcasm, but when Tink's face only contorted more in horror, she sighed in indignation. "My, well—_our_ son," she spared a grudging gesture to Emma, "was kidnapped by Pan's minions and I'm here to slaughter the demon for having the _audacity _to touch a single hair on his hair."

Tink appeared disconcerted, but her face began to untwist and within moments her beauty was full-fledged. "You had a _son_?!" She pivoted on her heel and faced Emma, no small amount of surprise and confusion in her expression. "With _her_?"

Both Regina and Emma looked equal parts offended and repulsed.

"Henry has two mothers," Hook affirmed, then with a mischievous smirk, he added, "The means of which he was conceived was not of the usual nature, but—"

Emma silenced him with an evil stare. "Why can't two women live in the same town and share a son without being confused as a gay couple?" She said, but to her chagrin the words came out horribly jumbled and slurred, and she quickly readopted her decision to never speak again.

Tink seemed to want nothing more than to keep Regina on the offensive, but she wouldn't be a fairy if she didn't offer her aid. "Emma," she said, and in that moment her wide eyes widened until they resembled saucers. "Emma," she reiterated, and she repeated it several times, doing little to assuage Emma's waning patience. Then, with a start, she exclaimed and Emma half-expected to see the fairy start to sing or begin to dance to manifest the pleasure so conspicuous in her smile. "Emma, Emma Swan!" Cried Tink, who swooped down to take Emma's hands in hers, eyes bright, "The _savior_."

Emma squirmed in discomfort at both the title and the fact that Tink, not unlike Hook, had seriously no concept of personal space. She was so close Emma could smell faint traces of rum on her. _Rum_. Her back stiffened on its own accord as her gaze flickered to the pirate, who was watching with rapt fascination, back to the fairy. She wondered briefly if fairies were capable of reading a person's thoughts, but if Tink did she made no comment on the pretty malicious ideas Emma had on just where she could send the unfairly beautiful sprite.

Emma immediately closed her eyes, castigating herself for caring about whatever history Tink and Hook shared and for suspecting the pirate for having less-than-altruistic motives for bringing her to the camp. Surely Tinkerbell was there for a reason.

The fairy's eyes clouded with concern as she realized something was wrong. Scrunching her nose, she looked deep in thought for all but ten seconds before she gasped just as delicately as before, this time with horror and trace amounts of awe. "You're the woman Pan disposed of."

"Obviously not or she wouldn't be sitting here," Regina snapped. Mary Margaret hastened to supplant herself between Regina and the fairy she had obvious unresolved issues with before another fight could deter them further. "Emma was cursed by what Hook called—"

"Snufflepock," Tink finished, turning to Emma. "You should be asleep. You should be asleep _indefinitely_."

"So they keep telling me." Emma said with a childish giggle that was completely not of her own doing.

"Can you explain to us why _this_," David gestured to his daughter, "is happening?"

"Snufflepock is the deadliest form of sleeping powder. It feeds on your fears while you're asleep, at your most vulnerable. No one has ever woken up before," Tink said by way of explanation, pausing a moment to survey Emma. "No one has ever woken up before so I haven't any real idea as to why Emma is having such symptoms. But I suppose the educated guess would be that the curse wasn't entirely broken when she awoke."

"Can you do anything to help her?" Asked Mary Margaret like a woman who wanted to mother her daughter twenty-eight years too late.

"Of course," trilled Tink with a burst of shimmer, cheeks flushing in gratitude at being able to play a helpful part. Emma caught Hook staring at Tink's flushed chest as though he wanted to see how far down the flush traveled, and seemingly in invitation the leaves Tink wore turned towards Hook as if he were the sun. The smallest spark of jealousy flared at Hook's pervading silent perusal; her heart clenched painfully and unfairly. She remembered the dream she had had while under the curse, how it had been Hook to come to her rescue. With painstaking detail she remembered his kiss, his taste, how their bodies had seemed to fit together.

She thought about how empty the days felt when they weren't together.

In a bid for self-perseveration, she denied all of it.

He didn't belong to her.

"I can give you back the ability to walk and talk, Emma. It only takes a bit of fairy dust! But," Tink grew serious and sympathetic, her voice dropped so only Emma could hear, "I can't take away the memories or the flashbacks. You're getting them, aren't you?"

Emma nodded, curbing the sudden rising of fear about being haunted by her curse for years to come. Tink straightened, nodding grimly. "Now let's see what I can do."

* * *

Emma stretched her legs experimentally, the sudden urge to sing and dance just because she could stronger than she ever thought possible, but she curtailed her childish whims. The sun had combusted into flames in the sky only minutes ago, which was a fairly typical Neverland sunset—there was a twisted kind of beauty in a sun that was reborn each day, a beauty that almost made enduring its extremely loud, terrifying death every night worthwhile.

She hadn't slept very much since the curse. Being plagued with nightmares was a decent incentive to stay awake, even though sometimes she considered her reality to be as terror-inducing as her dreams. Regardless, she stayed awake, listening to the whispers in the trees, the moaning in the wind, the shrill cries of birds that sent tremors of fear down her spine.

"Swan," she thought she heard, but played it off to her ears playing tricks on her. Then something nudged her shoulder and she whipped around, ready to unleash her wrath on whoever dared to challenge her, and saw Hook. He was so close; she could feel the warmth he radiated in waves. "Relax, love," he said, grinning devilishly. "It's only me."

Emma took a step back, the defiant part of her that refused to give into his charms disquieted when he matched her step with one of his own, but the competitive part of her stood her ground. "Are you having trouble sleeping, darling? I can think of one way we could relieve the stress that's ailing you, and several different _positions_ to which we could relieve it."

Her eyebrows rose at the implication, and she strove to maintain her indifference even though her heart was beating so loudly she was certain he could hear it. "Maybe I'm just cold."

He took the bait, that smirk of his growing. "I'd be more than happy to share my heat with you, love."

She waited for his arms to take her into his embrace, but they never came. Instead, she felt the solid weight of his heavy leather coat on her shoulders and she battled over whether she felt more grateful or disappointed over the out he had given her.

He thought that was what she wanted.

She didn't even know _what_ she wanted anymore.

Softly, admiringly, he said, "You're the strongest woman I've ever met, Emma Swan. You deserve more praise than anyone for turning out as well as you have, and for trying to be a daughter to your parents just as much as you try to be a mother for Henry."

She couldn't turn around, couldn't face him. "Hook, I—"

"Darling, let me say my piece," he said, as though he this was something he wanted to get off his chest, and maybe it was. "One day, Emma, I'm going to break through those walls you have so high around your heart, and you're going to trust me. And then the real fun begins."

She wanted to tell him that she _did_ trust him. She wanted to tell him to touch her, to leave her alone, to never stray from her side, to stop reducing her into a little girl with a crush.

"Please stop," she finally said, voice struggling for conviction.

More than anything, she wanted to turn around and kiss him for being there, being here, taking her to Neverland, bringing Tinkerbell to camp, helping her find a boy he'd never met. But she couldn't help but think if she ever let go with Hook, she might never find herself again. Or worse, he could leave her heartbroken, feeling like a scared and angry little girl abandoned by two people who were supposed to love her best, like an angry and confused teenager betrayed by a boy who had promised her the world.

They had to focus on finding Henry.


End file.
